Thirty First One Days

Thirty one years ago I found a door.

The journey there was long and winding. Often it was backwards and unconventional, but at long last I found a solution to a deep problem that eluded all solutions. 

Growing up in Evangelicalism everything was about surrender. 

Surrender my will to God and He will solve all of my problems. 

Surrender my wicked heart and God will purify it.

If I wasn’t being freed from something it was because I wasn’t letting it go.

I would fast, pray and empty myself regularly of all sin.

I begged for forgiveness.

I obeyed all the commandments I read in scriptures to the best of my abilities. I obeyed and honored what my parents told me because it was a commandment with a promise. I applied every sermon, praise song and prophecy I heard as they wove a path to freedom.

A Highest Power with ultimate cosmic greatness who would be greater than every ailment.

Yet, I still struggled and failed.

In all of that Holy Roller noise I heard a still small voice, which led me to a door.

Through that door I found a series of steps that were simple. They felt like breathing. They felt like a gentle roadmap that I simply had to follow. This mystery seemed unattainable. Freedom couldn’t cost so little. Fighting, struggle, sacrifice and strain were the core ingredients of Surrender. It is declared as such with every war and I was fighting for the right to live. 

To be good enough.

To serve enough.

To contribute enough.

But… not to cost anyone too much.

On January 6, 1991 I chose to walk the path set before me. It was rough at first as I navigated that quiet road. Giving up my dramatic highs and self-sacrificing lows. Making friends with how I felt alongside learning how to nurture the corporeal body I lived in. 

My fleshly body was a crafted work of art, sculpted by God. It was gifted to me. I was to be a steward of in this life. It was mine to nourish, care for and listen to. I was to meet its needs. In caring for it, my body would provide a way for me to move through this life.

That lovely Still Quiet Voice began to push away the Holy Roller one. A relationship with an Unconditionally Loving Higher Power began to form within me. It nurtured my mind as I found my way through challenging situations, a few mental breakdowns and a divorce.

Today it is my Thirty-First year of nurturing my body and life. Anorexia still is a consistent companion, but because of that door and those steps I have the tools to gently live one day at a time. It never mattered if the highest high was the curtain opened on a brightly lit stage or the lowest low found me at the complete loss of everything precious to me. 

I have a way to find the next right thing.

A guidepost to understanding that I am loved unconditionally.

I have intrinsic worth.

My experience is a gift to be shared.

I am abundantly grateful for the life I am able to piece together each moment of every day.

Join Me on a Crafty Adventure

Here in the pond of life I find myself either sunning my legs on a lily pad in Monet’s Garden thinking life is fan-froggy-tastic

OR

My legs are perfectly seasoned, breaded and dressed on a plate in a Micheline Five Star restaurant.  

In each situation I make the best of the situation. As a visitor to the Lily Pad, my journey is filled with pivots and plot twists. As an extrovert with Fibromyalgia, navigating through PTSD triggers while sharing my experience, strength and hope life is filled with beauty and practicalities.

It seems for all of us 2020 has been such a year. I am abundantly grateful for the many changes I’ve grown through since July 2019. So many changes happening all at once, it is important to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Pausing to be in the moment and savor the beautiful. It’s an important focus in developing a new direction for myself through this  constant shifting horizon of opportunities. 

I now teach English as a Second Language (ESL) online through two different tutoring platforms. It is so fun to use my over 35 years of education experience on a new platform. You can find me at Superprof for tutoring in many different forms, reading, math, language development. Working with people from all over the world is perfect for this homebound extrovert.

I am in school with Abilene Christian University Online full time, working to complete my undergrad degree in Psychology and Business.  You can see some of my projects here.

I  am developing an art curriculum for online and at home educators that blends art history and the art style of an Artist. It has already received positive feedback during live streaming sessions.

The Etsy store is available here. Art reflects life, and crafting splashes a bit of beauty into the ordinary. Embroidered dish towels, message boards, and aprons are just the start. Mixed media art is a new medium for me, and infused with words will be a perfect encouragement.  These kinds of Practical Crafts bring a bit of extraordinary into the ordinary. 

So that is precisely what I’ve done. I am inviting you to be part of my process as I grow and develop over the coming months and through the next year. Part of this growth includes a new venture - I am now offering a monthly subscription service.

For a donation of: $36-60   You will receive, monthly for one year, a link to a digital artwork, with an inspirational quote.

For a donation of: $120-$144 You will receive monthly for one year a link to a digital artwork with an inspirational quote AND In the mail package of a Practical Craft. (monthly for one year)

Part of this year’s journey will be blog posts about the classes I’m taking, what I’m learning and how it is all progressing. 2020 was a tough year for all of us, and I look forward to sharing growth and what I call living Tenacious Optimism with you.  If you have any questions, you can leave a comment, or email me at froginparis@gmail.com. If you would like to be a part of this project you can donate through either Paypal: paypal.me/frognparis or Venmo: https://venmo.com/Frognparis.

If you would like to donate, but would not like to be a part of the monthly subscription, leave a comment below.

Not Saturn Dear...

Words are funny things. They are permanent, but also fleeting. Sometimes we are aware of the significance. Other times, the most flippant statement can feel devastating. I often ruminate about the words spoken from my mouth, usually into some kind of self-indulgent crisis. I would call to repent for the offense. The person typically laughed and told me it wasn’t a big deal. They knew I was kidding or my comment didn’t bother them at all.

 A year ago however, my entire universe was spinning. I had no idea how to stop it. In forcing myself to accept a new reality, I spent the week purging the house from the life that was. It was left open for possibilities for a life that could be.

 What could that life be? 

 My birthday. a few days away, I decided to throw myself a party. I would fill my house with laughter and friends. To fill every inch of it with a new life and love for the new future I was facing. I needed to remind myself for the next year, that I was not alone. I asked them all if they could contribute a piece of art to this new home.

 A friend from Florida was in town and not able to come to the party. I was invited to a gathering with a bunch of mutual friends. The idea overwhelmed me. However, I couldn’t see any way to turn it down. He lived in Florida. A few years before, I traveled with a friend for a cruise and she and I had dinner with him and his husband. 

 This would be my first night in public after the…. YOU KNOW.

 I called a friend to tag along and we went. 

 How can I explain what life is like inside a PTSD/Trauma reactive brain? It is something like standing in a television store: all of the screens are on a different channel and each one has its volume up to eleven while you are trying to have a conversation with the person standing next to you. Problem is, you are the only one who hears the sound of the televisions. 

 There I stood in the lovely backyard of friends, with my adorable Florida gazing at the stars. We snarked and giggled a bit about my life at the moment. Then he pointed me to the moon in the Southwest. Holding up his phone with an astronomy app open he said, 

 “Look! Jup(static)iter is the closest to the Earth it has been in (static) years.”

 I looked up at the beautiful moon and the small glowing pin of light standing next to it. I felt in awe. Suddenly the grass became real under my feet. I could hear the fountain trickling in the backyard. The balmy summer air had the familiar Central Valley oder. My brain was quiet for a minute. Everything stopped spinning. Florida was real. I was real. I didn’t hurt in every place of my being. In my sudden excitement i burst with, 

 “OH! That’s the one with the rings!”

 Florida looked at me shocked. He then gently smiled. With a full throaty laugh he said, “Not Saturn, Dear.” I began to laugh with tears. 

 “Of course! I know that!” He gently took me and  his phone. Swung us around to the East where Saturn hung in the sky. “See, there’s Saturn.” We turned to the southwest again, “And look it’s Jupiter.”

 We couldn’t stop laughing at my silly word salad. What Florida didn’t know, he found my North Star. In simply and gently correcting my perspective, I began to feel myself for the first time in a week. 

 I could feel myself breathing.

I felt a little hungry. 

I felt Loved. 

The universe stopped spinning.

I knew where Saturn and Jupiter were.

 That night, I came home to face another night of dreaded sleep. I sat on my mattress against the window. I looked up and there was the Moon and Jupiter shining. I heard Florida’s words, “Not Saturn, Dear.” I began to cry. I knew for the first time in a week those words gave me a reason to go to sleep. I also now had a reason to wake up.

 For tomorrow night, when I went to bed… the Moon and Jupiter would be there to greet me.

 I was going to be ok.

To Because Of...

I am not sure when February began. It is the month when migraines like that come to visit. I am unable to talk. Yes, I did continue to isolate. I did lose more relationships. It is a consequence of the darkness; Fibromyalgia, Migraines, Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, etc. All of it carries a heavy price for the people around me.

I wish I could control it.

I wish the illnesses would never hurt anyone.

I wish the illnesses would just go away. 

I understand and accept the illness won’t magically evaporate. I accept my baggage is too much. Boundaries are about what an individual can tolerate. It is not my right to impose my boundaries on other people. There are some things I can tolerate. On the things I cannot tolerate, I politely excuse myself.  I have to allow other people the same rights with their boundaries. 

Somehow in the middle of the Magical Migraine tour, I found an online university to finish my undergrad. I found an employment platform that has a potential for generating income. 

I had no plan, I only had The Next Indicated Step. I took each next indicated step I saw. If a relationship needed to go on hiatus, I let it go. If school needed a form filled out, I completed the task. If terms needed to be negotiated in good faith, I negotiated.

Then Covid 19. Life happened to all of us in the middle of Our plans. 

Suddenly I wasn’t alone in a freefall, survival mode. The whole humanity was. It was socially acceptable to not leave the house. KJ not going to school yet was now a smart decision. I still practiced what I knew, walking in the next indicated step. When terms were reneged, I let them go. When the employment platform became complicated, I worked at learning how to adapt. I worked through a first term of school. 

Slowly as I moved through March, April and May I began it realize I no longer 

Lived In Spite Of…

I quietly was healing and shifting into 

Living Because Of…

The Dark Thoughts still came when hope seemed the dimmest. I have problems at the moment that look insurmountable and bleak, however those Dark Thoughts are not quite as overwhelming as they were a year ago. They don’t blind me. 

Working through this month I am in my second session of university. I still am grinding through the platform trying to get something to work for me. My resumé is fairly shiny. I almost can hear something that sounds like my own voice. I really like the way it sounds and the ideas it has. I love dearly the people who are in my life. 

The people who have followed a different path than mine? I send love to them. I hope they find the solutions they need. Some relationships our paths will cross again in time, because that’s just how life flows. Other relationships will sail on into their own sunset. 

For today? I still have no plan. I have no idea how any of this will turn out. I continually invent a new future that I never imagined every day. I still feel terrified by it all.

However, I no longer feel any In Spite Of… 

I live Because Of the Love I experienced this year.

I live Because Of the miracles I’ve seen this year. 

I live Because Of what I let go of this year.

I live Because Of how I healed this year.

To Fall... To Be...

The months between October and January held an organic plan for themselves.The rhythm of the holidays carried me one event at a time. I didn’t need to generate one. All I had to do was follow the prescribed social agenda. It was distracting enough to make it look like I could function.  

 In constant contact with the kids, Ase, Zany, and KJ were all sorting through the same shattered pieces as I was. The four of us held an open space as we navigated the shards gently. We relabeled some holidays and let other ones rest for a while. It was lovely to collectively agree to simply rest and heal.

As for KJ being home from college, she and I held an arrangement that we understood what was going on. Other people didn’t need to agree or know. This was her life and her decision. I respected her ability to stand up to me and tell me what she needed. I wish I had her strength at 19. To stop and figure herself out on her terms. 

My Dear Friend held space for me in the months of August to October when I was scrambling for some sanity to hold onto. They simply needed a space to heal. When they were asked for a medical plan, I was invited to be a part of their process. All they needed was a place to stay. It was incredibly healing to be a Human Being in my Dear Friend’s life instead of a Human Doing. They sorted themselves out, found the help they needed and worked through the issue. 

The holidays passed and January came. Only one personal holiday left, the four of us renamed it. The month was a quiet hurdle. January typically is a Fibro Flare month anyway. I quit talking to everyone. I simply didn’t have any words. I am grateful for the people who consistently called and showed up. Some helped to paint kitchen cabinets. Others sat and sipped tea while we built jigsaw puzzles. The regular dinner theme night kept my food on track.  Leaving the house was still overstimulating. The random text or call shed a beam of light here or there. It was enough to keep me moving forward.  

I had to let go. 

I had to stop trying.

I had to no longer Live In Spite Of…

I wasn’t strong. I was very, very weak. I needed to rest in a quiet place and heal. I needed to feel safe. I had to learn how to hear my own voice. After 51 years of taking care of everyone else, I had to discover how to take care of myself. It was time to admit that I had nothing to give anyone else. 

 I was a Human Being

I was not a Human Doing.

I didn’t know what that looked like. The only way to discover it was simply

To Be…

I Fell Down

A year ago, I had a plan. 

KJ (aka Girly) was to leave for college. I would spend the first half of the year researching tutoring companies and after school programs. I had a few options for library positions in local schools. My plan was to look into online opportunities and finish my undergrad, hopefully get my certificate as an interpreter for the deaf.  I was going to explore what my art capabilities were, develop an art history/art curriculum and find a way to market, then sell it. 

That was the plan I worked towards for two years while KJ finished high school. I built up my resume building through volunteer work in a local school classroom and theatre projects. I made appointments with the local colleges to see what was necessary to become an interpreter. It was a slow process, between Fibro flare-ups and week long Migraines. I was proud of the slow, but steady progress I was making. 

You see, every moment of my life since December 1, 1987 has been on purpose. I lived “In Spite of…” what happened in my life. I was told I was strong. I needed to get my shiznit together. Keep going. They told me I was a survivor. They said I was inspiring. I heard I was to be admired. I was challenged that I couldn’t give up. They chided me with, I shouldn’t be a martyr. 

“Don’t play the victim.”

“Don’t be codependent.”

“Don’t ask for help.”

“You’re fine.”

“Quit complaining.”

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Be brave. You’re strong!” (oh, right… I said that one).  

AND wash, rinse, repeat. 

Then Life happened.

Last year I felt, yet again, forced into another person’s narrative. 

I felt pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. 

I asked for help like I was supposed to. I stayed strong like I was supposed to. I held my shiznit together as best I could. I kept checking off each goal box at a time.

Get KJ to school

Get home.

Start over.

All the helpful advice focused on one basic sentiment: “Now you get to do what you always wanted.”

Problem was, I had what I always wanted. I now needed to invent something I never imagined for myself: Alone.

I kept up appearances adequately. Checked all the “you should” boxes. Until...

In September, KJ told me she needed to come home from college.

In late October, a dear friend of mine had a medical emergency that checked all my Senior Year death boxes.

The holidays loomed.

Everything began to crumble. 

I had no plan for when life turned to sand and disintegrated in my hands. I did have a choice. I could either drive myself insane making it stick together…

OR…

Let it run through my fingers.

It was terrifying beyond all imagination. What would everyone think of me? Who would stay by me? What would happen if I was alone in all of it? One fact I knew about myself.  No longer could I be strong. I had no shiznit to hold together anymore. I had no idea if I could survive this, actually I knew I wouldn’t. I knew that I had to let go of all those shattered pieces of myself I held together since December 1, 1987. 

It was time to let it all fall apart. 

I had no plan for the first time in my life. I understood that not everyone who was in my life at the time would be able to walk with me down the dark road before me. It was alright. It was a darkness I avoided for far too long. I could not pretend anymore.

It was time I faced it and healed correctly.

I Was Colorblind But Now I See

It was 1985, my Junior year at South High. Every time I walked on the school campus my skin crawled a little. Everyone said it was fine. “Rebel Pride!” was something we all were supposed to embrace. At the time, the student body to me seemed to be 40% white, 35% black and 25% other. I am not sure of the exact statistic. 

I would hear my white friends complain about how we couldn’t fly the General Lee/Confederate Flag anymore at football games. Political Correctness was robbing us of our heritage. I was at a total loss of what that meant. The North won the war. The South lost, why would anyone want to fly a flag as if something was a victory. I felt embarrassed for my black friends wondering if they were hearing any of it. Wondering why more fights on campus didn’t happen.

The mascots of our school were Jody and Johnny Rebel. Yup… That’s right. Jody wore the complete baby blue taffeta ballgown WITH, hoops. Johnny bedecked in the Rebel blue and a hat on top. Each football game I would wonder why no one was saying anything. How this could be ok with everyone! How it was possible Everyone embraced 

Rebel Pride.

I went along. I wanted to fit in. However, I didn’t grow up here. My early childhood years I listened to stories about my parents marching in Civil Rights marches. How my Mom related to discrimination because of the religious bias she encountered in her state. She was not LDS (Mormon) and in the 1950 thru 1960s that was a huge issue. No dates. Exclusions from social gatherings or babysitting jobs. Her empathetic stories would go on and on. I was raised to never exclude people because of their differences. I was raised to be Colorblind. If I didn’t see color, if I only saw people, there would be no racism.

Poof… it would be gone.  

No need for Affirmative Action. No need for Wage Equality. No need to change history. If we would treat people like people and not a color or a disability, the Parentals told me, the problem would be solved.

I believed them right up until the end of my Junior year. 

People told me I was moderately popular in high school. I heard a rumor that I was liked. It would be my Senior year so why not?

Why not run in an election to be part of the school mascot team. I was told I would be a cute Jody Rebel.

So I ran. I made posters. I campaigned. I didn’t go out for cheer leading because it was a potential scheduling conflict. As did a few other girls. One of the girls was black, Georgia. The other girl had the same name as mine, Becky.

It came down to a runoff. 

Becky 

Becky H. (Me)

Georgia.

The morning after the final vote I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to get to school and see who won. When I arrived, I saw the announcement, Georgia won. I was happy for her. Naturally a little disappointed, but Georgia was a huge soul. Everyone loved her. She would make a fantastic Jody Rebel. She definitely would be better at it than me.

I moved on with my day.

As the classes transitioned, I began to hear a murmur. Towards the end of the day it finally was reported to me through some acquaintances. They agreed with the rumor. They were mad at me too. What I had done was completely unjust. It was offensive. I should have known better.

I should have known that Becky C. was more popular than me.

I should have done the honorable thing and dropped out of the race.

I confused everyone because the underclassmen couldn’t tell the difference between us.

I had split the vote and allowed a black girl to win Jody Rebel.

Didn’t I know? Jody Rebel was supposed to be WHITE? I completely ruined our classes Senior year. How selfish I was. Blablabla.

Suddenly, I was no longer colorblind. I now understand what looked at me that day in the face was systemic racism. Many friendships silently ended for me that day. I was ok that they were mad at me. I was ok that their opinion was I somehow was an awful person for a day.

I felt proud. I, unknowingly, did my part. Yes! this school was racist. Yes! our mascot was racist. The whole premise of our high school celebrated oppression. Somehow, unwittingly I defied it. I made room for a change. I never apologized for staying in the race. I still don’t. I wanted to be Jody Rebel. Georgia won fair and square in that runoff.

More importantly,  

It was time we had Georgia as our Jody Rebel.